


Penance

by vienn_peridot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Crying, Dubious Consent, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Public Masturbation, Punishment, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Trauma Bonding, Unusual Punishment, Vocal Inhibitor, Wing Kink, to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3936202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Citadel has a rather... <i>unique</i> way of reminding it's Knights of the importance of community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flying Solo

**Author's Note:**

> I'm saying dubious consent because it's a punishment, but Wing COULD have taken an alternate penance if he didn't want to do this.

# One

Wing writhed, the silencer attached to his neck cabling dampening every sound he tried to produce. No matter how hard he tried, nobody could hear him

That was the point.

He’d been caught sneaking out one too many times and had incurred this… particular penance.

Oh he’d been on the other side before, when another knight had been caught too many times. Wing had always figured he was too smart to end up in here.

_I was wrong. Ok I admit it, I was wrong!_

He was muffled but not gagged, able to mouth pleas and apologies to the knights passing by. The only sounds he could hear were his own straining systems and the squelching noises from between his legs.

This was a Citadel-only punishment, meant to show the knight in question the dubious pleasure of solitude while instilling a greater appreciation for their community and what it meant to be a part of it. To encourage respect for the rules that kept them hidden and safe, a reminder that the rules were there for a reason and obedience was necessary to preserve everything that they fought for.

Someone stopped, made eye contact with Wing and ran their glossa deliberately over their lips.

_I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_.

Wing arched into overload, a soundless cry ripped from him as a fresh spurt of silver liquid erupted from his spike to splatter against the side of the soundproofed glass display case he occupied. It joined the dried streaks of previous overloads and the other knight smiled, blew him a kiss and moved on.

That too was part of the punishment. Denied physical contact and reminded of it whenever a passing knight felt like it. Wing could overload as much as he liked but he wouldn’t know any touch but his own until he’d served his penance.

Remembering this Wing's cooling system strained and he fleetingly wished he could moan.

He was in a transparent box tall enough for him to kneel upright and wide enough for his flightpanels which were trembling at full extension. The jet’s thighs were bound to his lower legs with just enough slack to lift himself up slightly if he felt like riding the thick false spike anchored to the bottom of the box. It filled him to the brim and slightly past what was comfortable, deliciously textured but not _quite_ in the right way to really satisfy him. Wing's hands were bound in front of him, forearms attached to to pelvic armour so he could stroke his spike whenever he felt so inclined.

Despite these concessions to his ability to pleasure himself Wing was denied the one thing he truly craved.

Physical contact.

When he first entered the box Wing had been supremely confident of his ability to withstand the penance. Be put on public display and allowed to overload himself into oblivion?

Bring it on.

Unfortunately for Wing his superiors in the order knew the jet far better than he knew himself. By now he was so desperate to feel someone else against him that simply seeing someone clapping their friend on the shoulder had him leaning forward, hungry eyes devouring the sight while the false spike seated deep in his valve shifted teasingly.

It almost felt like he didn’t exist. Life moved on around Wing as he moaned silently, jigging up and down to stimulate the aching nodes deep in his valve. He was a part of citadel life and apart from it, just a piece of furniture in the background. Lubricant squished from his valve, forced out by the girth of the toy spreading him. Wing's charge rose again, clawing through his frame.

_Please please I’m sorry someone let me out I’m sorry PLEASE_.

At last, Wing’s antics earned him some attention.

Two groundframes sauntered over to the box, arms slung casually around each other in a way that made him try to whine through the silencer. Making sure Wing was watching them the pair embraced, dragging their hands slower than was absolutely necessary over kibble until they were pressed chest to chest with not even a micron of space between their armour.

A deep yearning rose within Wing as he watched them kiss chastely, rubbing their nasal ridges together. The desire to _touch_ was stronger than the sweet ache in his valve and the slow build to overload rising within him.

_Oh Primus I’m sorry_.

One of the knights shifted slightly, canting his hips so Wing could see exactly what was going on as his partner slid a hand between their frames, fondling everything he passed by on the way to the other’s pelvic array. Wing’s flight turbines fired as the first knight allowed his armour to open, spike extending and lubrication dripping to stain his upper thighs pink.

Wing grabbed his spike, desperately pumping it in time with the second knight's motion as he brought his partner to completion with his hands.

Despite being on public display with an unknown number of optics on him Wing felt infinitely lonely as he overloaded in the box, valve milking the false spike while his spike added to the mess dripping down the window. He watched enviously as the grounder shuddered against his partner, leaning into the willingly-provided support of another frame as he recovered from his overload. Wing nearly sobbed when the silver-smeared hand was licked clean with long, sensuous laps of the first knight’s glossa.

_I’m sorry please I’m so sorry._

The kissed again, sharing the taste of reproductive nanites and Wing nearly screamed with desperation when they walked away without a backward glance, leaving a few pink and silver smears on the floor in front of his prison.

It was at the point that Wing started to cry, the obscene squelching noises of his self-servicing covering the soft hitching of his vents as optical lubricants made wet trails down his cheeks. Tears ran freely down his face and sizzled when they dropped onto hot armour plating.

Wing wanted, he _needed_.

No matter how many times he overloaded the physical pleasure couldn’t erase the growing ache in his spark.

By the time Dai Atlas arrived with help to release Wing from the display case the jet was absolutely wrecked. Drool and tears streaked his face and chestplates and his valve made a wet sucking noise when they carefully lifted his limp frame from it's position on the false spike.

When the vocal inhibitor was removed all Wing could do was whisper static-laced apologies as they wiped him down and returned Aequitas to its rightful place at his back. He overloaded three times as someone carefully cleaned his sore, overused array and manually closed his armour.

Wing fell offline clinging to Dai Atlas’ armour as the large knight carried him home.


	2. Setting An Example

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift gets caught sneaking out and Wing volunteers to take his place when it comes time to face the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jet gets wrecked.  
> Other Knights tone down their jet-teasing for Drift's benefit.

# TWO

“As he is responsible for you, Wing has agreed to take this penance in your place.” Dai Atlas said escorting Drift to a part of the Citadel he hadn’t been to. “Given your history we have allowed it this time.”

Drift frowned, trailing a few steps behind the triplechanger as he led the way through the Citadel.

“I don’t want him to take a punishment meant for me. It’s not right.” Drift felt familiar anger building within him. “Whatever it is, I want to do it instead.”

The pair entered a large room that looked like the main foyer for this part of the Knights’ Citadel. Mechs were standing around chatting in little groups or moving briskly about their business, passing through from one place to another as they went about their day. Wing was already there. He waited patiently with Axe and one of the Citadel medics beside a clear, mech-sized display case with a huge knobbly false spike fixed to the bottom of it.

 _What the_ frag _is this?_

“Drift, thank you for coming.” Wing said, looking subdued. “This penance is one of those reserved for Knights who have been caught leaving the city without permission. It is meant to give the Knight in question a greater appreciation for the value of community and the dubious pleasure of being alone. It is not one we speak of outside the Citadel. Because of the nature of this penance I have asked to undergo it in your stead.”

“We allowed him to do so on the condition that you remain and watch.” Dai Atlas said, towering over the other four mechs. “He believes that it would be counterproductive for you to undergo this particular penance at this time while _I_ believe it would be enlightening for you to observe.”

Drift looked from Dai Atlas to Wing and back again. The jet’s optics were pleading, his Field twisted with emotions Drift couldn’t quite decipher.

“Alright. This is the last time he takes my punishment for me, though.” Drift announced. “I know he’s done it before and I don’t give a scraplets rusted aftpipe what you think of my ‘delicate mental state’ or whatever. I’m sick and tired of being treated like I’m fragile.”

“This may be harder than you think, Drift.” Dai Atlas said, frowning impressively. “You must stay and witness the entire penance without interfering. You must interact with others if they attempt to engage you in conversation. This _is_ about community, after all.”

“Sure, fine. Whatever.” Drift was openly hostile now, crossing his arms and ignoring Wing’s silent pleading for him to calm down.

“Shall we begin?” Axe suggested, breaking the tense standoff between the Decepticon and the Knight.

“Please.” Wing said, seating himself on the edge of the open box. “The sooner this starts the sooner it’s over.”

Drift’s ventilation system stalled with a smothered choking noise as the jet spread his legs and slid both the primary and secondary covers for his interfacing array aside, shamelessly baring both his valve and recessed spike to everyone present.

_What the slag?!_

He wasn’t sure where to look but his traitorous optics remained glued on Wing. The unnamed medic knelt between Wing’s thighs and pulled a jar of what was obviously interfacing lubricant from subspace, thoroughly coating the fingers of one hand and proceeding to prepare Wing’s valve. From the way the jet hissed and twitched it was obviously cold but he didn’t complain. His face took on a serenity Drift had only seen in meditation as the medic efficiently covered the external folds of Wing’s valve with a thick layer of lube before going back to the jar for another handful.

The focus of this one was the entrance to Wing’s valve and once the medic deemed it sufficiently greased he slid a finger inside the jet, spreading the artificial lubricant into the internal canal and apparently stimulating some very nice sensors. Wing’s armour flexed and his skirting panels scraped the floor as his hips made little abortive twitches into the pressure. Despite this the medic frowned at Wing’s crotch and began a firm massage of his external node, continuing the internal stimulation.

“Please relax, Knight Wing.” The medic instructed, “I need you to loosen up.”

 _He fragging sounds like this is a_ checkup _or something._

Wing nodded and Drift felt warm air brush over his plating as the jet cycled through a deep ventilation sequence and his face went blank. In the next moment his valve relaxed with a visible ripple, allowing the medic to slip another finger inside. The soft glow of the jet’s own lubrication gradually joined the slick gloss of artificial stuff around his valve as the medic began finger-fragging him, slowly and methodically stretching out Wing’s valve until he could add a third and fourth finger without any difficulty.

Throughout this the jet was absolutely silent. Only his Field contained any hint of his growing arousal.

“Alright Knight Wing; your valve is sufficiently prepared.” The medic withdrew his hand from Wing’s valve with a squelching noise and pulled a cleaning cloth from subspace to clean it off. “Please assume the position.”

All Drift could do was watch in a state of shock as Wing nodded, turned and crawled into the clear box to kneel over the false spike.

Supporting himself with one hand Wing slowly lowered himself until the false spike brushed his thoroughly soaked valve before pausing to reach down and spread his valve lips comfortably around the tip of the dildo. When he was satisfied with the arrangement Wing suddenly dropped, impaling himself.

 _Now_ the jet made a sound; a low sigh of satisfaction which made Drift’s spike twitch with interest behind his panels.

_Oh frag no!_

Wing caught himself when about half the false spike was inside his valve, pinkish lubrication running down the shaft as he supported his weight on both arms and nodded at nobody in particular.

Drift could see the jet’s valve straining around the girth of the interfacing toy and with an experienced optic he judged that it was definitely enough to challenge Wing but it wouldn’t injure the jet if he rode it roughly.

At Wing’s signal Axe and Dai Atlas stepped forward. They pulled sturdy ropes from subspace and used them to tie Wing’s thighs to his lower legs in such a way as that he would be able to sit properly and raise up a little, with the ultimate height he would be able to achieve being what he currently gave himself. When the knots were secure the two senior Knights helped Wing down into a seated position, the false spike fully sheathed in his valve. They swiftly bound the jet’s elbows to his waist and attached a vocal inhibitor to his neck cables before retreating to close up the box.

When the clear pane locked into place the jet’s EM Field vanished from Drift’s ability to sense. He watched in stunned silence as Wing twitched and resettled himself, biolights pulsing brightly as he shifted over the false spike.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was just… too bizarre.

“So, this is it?” Drift demanded while trying to hide how much the sight of Wing like this –bound and silenced, aroused and on display- turned him on. “Wing gets turned into a display for the day? What’s the point? How is this supposed to show anything besides how perverted you lot are?”

Dai Atlas’ engine rumbled but he refused to take the bait.

“The purpose of this is for the Knight undergoing penance to experience solitude while being surrounded by companionship.” The triplechanger said slowly, “His ability to interact with others is limited and he is _completely_ unable to touch or be touched. This is particularly difficult for a species as social as ours to endure.”

During Dai Atlas’ explanation Wing had begun slowly rocking his hips, apparently oblivious to the mechs around him as he slowly worked himself towards overload. Drift couldn’t keep his optics off the sight, oral cavity going dry as Wing’s flightpanels flared wide and his entire frame shuddered. The grounder shivered in sympathy and his spike began announcing a definite interest in the proceedings.

_This is going to be one Pit of a long day._

“It seems cruel and unusual and in a way it is, but it is the creative punishments that leave a lasting impression upon our more wayward knights.” The triplechanger finished his explanation, walking to the front of the box where he made optic contact with Wing.

Drift caught the edge of Wing’s serene smile and smothered a chuckle at the huge Knight’s exasperated look.

“I will return when Wing’s time is up.” Dai Atlas again addressed Drift. “Remember, you are to observe and be polite to those who seek to speak with you.”

“Yeah, fine.” Drift growled, more than half distracted by the little movements of Wing’s forearms. He couldn’t see what was going on but he could make an educated guess.

_Is he showing off his spike to Dai-Fragging-Atlas?!_

Axe and the medic hung around for a little, making small talk before leaving to do whatever it was they did in this place besides turn naughty Knights into pornographic sideshows. After that the morning passed relatively quickly, Wing shivering through several more overloads.

Eventually Drift realised that Knights were making a point of stopping for conversations where Wing could see them but not once did they make any attempt to interact with the jet. As time went on Wing almost seemed to forget that Drift was there but the grounder could see the way he started leaning forwards, yearning towards mecha that were being even more free with friendly touches than they usually were.

Remembering Dai Atlas’ instructions Drift forced himself to ignore the uneasy mix of lust and shame inspired by the sight of Wing slowly stroking his spike and rolling his hips in little circles on the false spike.

Drift made awkward smalltalk with the Knights who stopped to speak with him, forcing himself to be civil. Most offered to shake hands, all of them were friendly and many seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. It didn’t really matter to him that they were all basically asking the same questions about what he thought of their city and if he’d been allowed on the speedway yet, it still confused the slag out of Drift that mecha seemed to be going out of their way to make sure he wasn’t dying of boredom.

How anyone could be bored when they’d basically been ordered to spend the day watching an absolutely _gorgeous_ jet masturbate themselves into a stupor was completely beyond Drift.

He tried to stay out of the way, off to the side where Wing wouldn’t be able to see the way his frame heated every time the Knight overloaded but people seemed intent on dragging Drift out of his corner. Politely of course, and somehow they always managed to manoeuvre him to where Wing could see with very little effort as he silently moaned and twitched and rocked on the false spike.

It didn’t escape his notice that Wing always seemed to overload that _little_ bit harder when he could see Drift.

Axe returned around midday, just after Wing had arched backwards with a silent cry, flightpanels trembling at full extension with his spike spraying a line of sticky silver across the front of the box. Drift was still trying to convince his spike that it _really_ didn’t want to get in on this and telling his reinstalled valve that it should just go to the Pit when the senior Knight materialised at his elbow and offered him a cube of Energon. Drift accepted the cube, sipping it as he followed Axe around to stand directly in front of the box, more-or-less shielding Wing with their frames.

“How are you holding up so far?”  Axe asked, concern colouring his voice and Field.

“I’m alright.” Drift couldn’t hide the jolt that went through him when he saw the shimmering puddle of fluids spreading beneath Wing. “Not sure about Wing though. Will he get fuel?”

“This morning he stuffed himself with this kind of solid Energon the medics make,” Axe soothed Drift’s fears. “It’ll melt in his tank over the course of the day and keep him going.”

Drift nodded with satisfaction and let the conversation die, willing to drink his own fuel knowing that Wing wasn’t going hungry. His optics slid to the side, motion-tracking threads picking up an unusual movement from the jets direction.

Wing was leaning as far forward as he could, golden optics wide and fixed pleadingly on Drift as tears slid down his cheeks. His lips shaped a word Drift didn’t recognise and from the way his armour trembled he must have been right on the verge of another overload.

“Wing!” Company forgotten, Drift pressed the palm of his free hand to the display case somewhere in the vicinity of Wing’s face. “I’m so sorry. Why the frag did you do this for me? You’re such an idiot. I’m not worth this.”

Face shining with optical lubricants Wing met Drift’s optics and gave him a wobbly little smile, mouthing something Drift couldn’t hear before his entire frame shook uncontrollably in overload.

Axe slipped away unnoticed, leaving Drift pressed against the case, in turns cursing and encouraging Wing through the glassteel pane.

He didn’t get as many visitors during the afternoon, the ones who did approach were familiar Knights who asked after his wellbeing and training progress instead of what he thought of their city. Less than half of Drift’s processor was on his replies and he found a small corner of his Spark began to appreciate the genuine concern being shown.

Then finally, _finally_ it was over.

Just after the underground city’s false sundown Dai Atlas returned with Axe again and a different medic to release Wing from his prison.

By now the jet was an absolute mess. His faceplates were streaked liberally with tears and oral solvents and his thighs and lower legs were positively _drenched_ with his own lubricants. The first brush of his desperate EM Field had Drift coming forward to shove his way into the small group and taking up a cleaning cloth to help clean Wings trembling frame while the medic checked him over.

The instant he felt Drift’s touch Wing twisted away from where he was trying to fuse his frame into Dai Atlas’ armour and wrapped himself around Drift instead. His EM Field held nothing but exhaustion, physical satiation and an overwhelming emotional need for contact and reassurance that Drift answered without hesitation.

When the medic was satisfied Wing was unharmed by his ordeal Drift got slowly to his feet, wordlessly accepting Dai Atlas’ help with positioning the jet in a way that made him easier to carry. Wing clung as tightly as his tired frame would allow, faceplates tucked into the gap between Drift’s neck and pauldron. The medic gave Drift a stern glare as he stood with his burden of trembling, exhausted jet held tightly to his chest.

“His array is going to be extremely tender until his self-repair deals with the beating he just gave it.” He said. “Remind Wing when he wakes up he’s _not_ to use that array for anything until I give him the all-clear. That means _not_ using it; no hands or oral and _especially_ no spiking or being spiked. If he _really_ needs to get off he’s to stick to tactile or plugging in. Understand?”

Drift cycled his optics, rather shocked despite himself at the sheer explicit detail of the medic’s rant.

“Understood, sir.” Out of reflex Drift fell back on military discipline. “I’ll remind him.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE ANGSTY  
> THEN DRIFT HAPPENED  
> FUCK.


	3. Soaring in Tandem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Witnessing Wing suffering on his behalf changed Drift a lot more than he realised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This truckload of fluff with sugar sprinkles is for everyone who has put up with me being sick, depressed and grumpy for the last few weeks.  
> Thank you.

Drift woke the next morning with Wing still plastered to his armour and pinning him to the berth.

It was almost uncomfortably warm with his vents being filled with berth padding or covered by slats of white Flightframe armour but every time he tried to gently nudge Wing off the jet whimpered and clung tighter. Smooth cheekpieces scraped unpleasantly along Drift’s audial flare, the feedback making both of them flinch and mumble simultaneous apologies.

“Wing, can you roll over? I’m starting to suffocate a bit.” Drift muttered. He didn’t really want to lose the contact, just the blocked vents.

“Sorry.” Wing said contritely, rolling off Drift and pulling the grounder with him so they were both lying on their sides facing each other, exposing as many of Drift’s vents as possible to the room without losing physical contact.

Drift reached out before he could stop himself, tracing the outline of Wing’s cheekpieces with dark fingers.

“Are you ok?”

It was the first time he’d ever asked Wing that.

Wing gave the question serious consideration, for which Drift was grateful. No throwaway answers and he wasn’t being brushed off. Something had changed yesterday and he wasn’t sure what it was. He didn’t want to think about it just yet either, instead letting his hand settle on the jet’s cheekpiece and waiting patiently for Wing to answer.

“Not completely, but I will be.” Wing admitted at last, carefully meeting his optics.

To his own surprise Drift found the blunt honesty more comforting than a polite lie would have been.

“Is… Is there anything I can do to help?” He offered hesitantly, wondering if there really _was_ anything that someone like him could do to help.

Wing studied his face for a long moment; golden optics searching for something. Drift wasn’t sure what it was but apparently Wing was satisfied with whatever he found.

“Only to be close, for as long as you can stand it.” The jet said in a low voice, his throat cabling worked and his optics were now fixed firmly on Drift’s collar fairing. “I will need to be in almost constant physical contact with someone until I recover completely. I can contact Axe; you don’t need to do this for me, Drift. You’ve already done enough.”

Drift snorted through his vents and rolled his optics even though Wing wasn’t looking at his face.

“Don’t be an idiot, Wing.”  He said, rubbing a thumb over Wing’s cheek. “I’ll stay with you. If you’re OK with that, I mean.”

Wing made a little noise in his throat and wrapped himself around Drift again, nuzzling into his neck and purring happily. His EM Field was a wash of joy and thanks where it flowed against Drift and the speedster sighed, wrapping his arms around Wing and making himself comfortable.

They lay like that for a long while. Wing dozed and Drift continued to hold him, comforting the jet with touch and Field trying not to let his processor wander back to images from the day before of the way Wing had looked during particular overloads. No matter how hard he tried to keep his thoughts in line Drift couldn’t keep the image of Wing’s pleasure-wracked expression from his processors for more than a few minutes at a time, desire and guilt heating his frame all over again.

_He did that for me and I_ still _don’t understand why._

Wing noticed his steadily growing arousal.

It was impossible for him not to, given how closely they were pressed together. The jet laughed under his breath and traced nonsense patterns on Drift’s abdominal armour.

“I know what the medic’s instructions will be, but they don’t preclude dispelling charge through tactile interaction.” Wing said suggestively, pressing a light kiss to Drift’s jawline.

“Big words.” Drift huffed, hiding a smile by scowling at the ceiling. “I’ve got an undersized processor, remember? Too many blows to the head during Decepticon training”

The next thing Drift knew he was scowling into Wing’s smiling faceplates as the jet rolled to sit atop him, straddling his hips. Drift’s vents stalled as Wing leaned down, whispering into his audial flare.

“Doctor’s orders don’t keep us from groping each other to overload.” He purred, lipping gently at the sweep of white metal.

Drift groaned, pressing into the touch.

“Good… Good point” He rasped, writhing in a move he’d perfected in the Dead End, sliding out from beneath Wing to push the jet face down on the berth. “Sounds like you’re hinting for a massage after spending all day yesterday folding yourself into weird shapes.”

Wing propped himself up on his elbows, giving Drift a concerned look over a shoulder turbine.

“Drift, I didn’t-”

Drift didn’t let him finish that sentence, pressing a finger to Wing’s lipplates.

“You did that for me; let me do this for you?” He offered uncertainly. “You can return the favour after, if you want.”

This was all completely unfamiliar territory for Drift. He wasn’t sure where this concern and desire to make sure Wing felt good was coming from but somehow it just felt _right_ to take care of him right now.

A soft smile lit Wing’s face and he kissed Drift’s fingertip.

“It’s a deal.” Wing breathed, settling himself comfortably on the berth.

Cycling his vents deeply Drift set to work.

He started with long strokes down Wing’s spinal column, soothing tense cables and unlocking small armour plates of the lower back that had probably gotten jammed together during one of Wing’s back-arched overloads of the day before. When that was dealt with and they all moved freely Drift allowed himself to move on to the complex mechanisms of the jet’s upper back, soothing the foundations of Wing’s articulated flightpanels until he melted and purred under the attention.

When Wing was completely relaxed Drift deliberately set about working him up again, completely absorbed in his task and blissfully unaware of the smile spreading across his face as the Knight twitched and moaned beneath him. He tried to resist the urge to touch the white flightpanels quivering temptingly at half-mast for as long as he could, but eventually his self-control ran out and Drift gave in.

Wing’s reaction made him wish he’d done it sooner.

_Frag he’s gorgeous like this._

It was one of the hottest things Drift had ever seen.

Wing writhing beneath him on the berth, biting his fist in a useless attempt to muffle his cries as Drift worked his flightpanels over. Drift had spent most of the penance watching them twitching and fluttering just out of reach and now he could _finally_ touch them to his Spark’s content. His charge rose almost as fast as the jets as he explored and experimented and learned.

Little tweaks along the edges made Wing gasp, flat strokes of Drift’s glossa made him moan and when he daringly used his fingers to draw glyphs of caring on them Wing _sobbed_ , arching up to press his back into Drift’s chestplates as he overloaded noisily.

When the overload ebbed Drift tried to move back to give Wing some room but Wing reached around, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back down to lie flat atop the jet. He could hear the thrum of continued arousal in Wing’s frame, matching his own pent-up charge. It was annoying but Drift could handle it. He’d endured worse things for less important reasons than this.

“Drift, _Drift_ I want…” Wing panted, looking over his shoulder at Drift with glazed optics.

“I know, but you need to give your self-repair time to work.” Drift reminded him, dragging the fingers of his free hand along the leading edge of an unfolded flightpanel.

“I know _that_ , but after yesterday tactile overloads really aren’t going to cut it.” Wing’s voice was abnormally sharp.

He wriggled underneath Drift, who sat back on his heels and kneaded gently along the length of Wing’s spine. The situation brought some of the extremely rare old good memory files to the front of Drift’s processor and he hummed pensively.

“I think I know something that might help,” Drift said carefully, lightly tracing the top of Wing’s pelvic armour. “It depends on how much you trust me.”

The uncharacteristic nervousness in Drift’s voice and his extremely careful choice of subglyphs had Wing pushing himself up off the berth, drawing his legs from between Drift and turning to sit facing the grounder with his head tilted curiously.

“What is it?”

“Um,” Drift felt extremely awkward. “We’d need to take off the armour here,” He touched the tops of his thighs, “And here.” Hands rested on his own hips, suddenly feeling too shy to touch Wing for some unknown reason. “Then, um, you keep your panels closed and I sorta… frag you… through _here_ ,” he waved a hand vaguely at the space at the top of his thighs, “And the vibrations stimulate your array enough for you to overload that way without any direct friction to, um, worsen the damage. It will either work _really_ well or fail spectacularly.”

It was embarrassing as Pit. After all the things Drift had done and all the people he’d done them with, and just _talking_ about doing this with Wing made his engine pick up a few hundred RPM and his vents opened wider to handle the extra heat.

_The big bad Decepticon gets turned on by fileswapping, soft fabrics and fragging in protoform. Pathetic._

Wing thought about it for a moment, cycling his optics a few times before giving Drift that wide, wonderful smile that did _not_ look like the sun coming up. Not at all.

“I’d love to try that.”

Those five words sent pure heat rushing from Drift’s array to spread through his frame and out into his Field where it lapped shyly at Wing’s. He didn’t hesitate to return the smile, not caring how stupid he looked as it made his cheeks do that weird notchy thing they always did and his Decepticon-sharp fangs caught the light.

_He’s gonna see worse than my face in a minute, anyway._

Before he could lose his nerve Drift rose to his knees and slid his hands to the clasps of his thigh armour, sending the mental command to disconnect neural relays and prepare armour for removal.

He didn’t need to look to see what he was doing and his optics flicked up to find Wing’s optics following his hands almost hungrily. They brightened and the jet bit his lip when Drift disconnected the armour protecting his right thigh and slid the bulky piece from his frame. He had to look away then, making sure he put his armour within easy reach in case someone unfriendly interrupted them. The left thigh armour followed quickly without a glance at his audience, not wanting to see the reaction to the scars criss-crossing his protoform.

Wing’s hands caught his on their way to the catches for his pelvic armour and Drift froze, looking up questioningly.

His vents caught and sputtered when he saw that Wing had already removed the relevant armour pieces from his own frame.

With his secondary interface covers demurely closed the jet wore nothing over the long lines of his own scar-traced protoform from waist to knees. Absently, Drift noted that the Knight had received better care for his own injuries; the scars were simple lines of colour where Drifts were a mess of raised welds and deep furrows.

_He got_ his _scars looking after people._

“How do you want to do this?” Wing asked shyly despite the way his optics seemed to burn. “I’d… I’d like to see your face.”

Drift swallowed, found he couldn’t get his vocaliser to online when he thought about the context of the question and settled for a jerky nod. Wing let go of his hands then, taking hold of the cheekpieces of Drift’s helm to still his head and brought their lips together.

Numb fingers flew into action as Drift fumbled to remove his pelvic armour, dropping it somewhere behind him as Wing used lips and tongue to expertly distract him from any further awkwardness about old wounds and naked metal.

Moving with the grace that marked everything he did Wing somehow managed to manoeuvre their frames so he was lying on his back with Drift was crouching over him again. The Knight’s legs were caged between Drift’s knees and even before the kiss ended the speedster was sucking huge draughts of air in an attempt to control the desire and nervousness that burned like a pure oxygen fire in his circuits. He wasn’t able to control how much or little of the emotions overwhelming him reached his Field so it was no surprise to him whenWing picked up on it.

“Where did you learn this?” Wing asked, tugging Drift down to press their forehelms together. “It seems like… something special.”

Normally Drift would have thrown his past in Wing’s face, but this time it took him a while to gather the courage to answer. Gentle hands ran up and down his sides, soothing tension and bringing pleasure without touching his bared protoform, the tips of Wing’s fingers making little tapping noises where they slid over the interlocking armour plates of his sides.

“Back in the Dead End. There wasn’t much reason for mechs like us to use our spikes, and our valves took a lot of damage.” Drift took a deep invent before ploughing on, hoping desperately that Wing would understand what he was trying to say. “This was the way we’d share pleasure with people we cared about. It felt… I don’t know, more _personal_ than the stuff we did with customers.”

Golden optics blazed and black hands rose to cradle Drift’s face and before he could ask what the problem was Wing had pulled him into the sweetest kiss of his entire functioning.

_Oh_.

Wing _definitely_ understood.

Drift almost thought he could overload just from this, from the way Wing’s lips stroked against his and the way their Fields rippled and spun creating actual sparks of light around their frames and the feel of Wing’s bare thighs against his. Instead he held onto his self-control with all the strength born clawing his way out of the gutters to end up in a war and slid his secondary interfacing covers open.

His spike pressurised without a fuss and when he felt lubricant ran from his valve Drift tilted his hips at just the right angle for it to add to the coating forming on his spike and drip onto the bared protoform beneath him. Wing gasped into their kiss, understanding and mischief shooting through his Field an instant before Drift heard the distinctive slide of a secondary valve cover retracting.

He pulled back, shaking his helm and frowning.

“Wing, you’re not sup-”

The jet silenced him with a finger, cheekily re-using Drift’s words from earlier with a slightly different inflection.

“Let me do _this_ for you.”

Drift had no idea what those subglyphs were supposed to mean, especially when the finger left his lips and Wing reached down between their frames. There was a squishing noise and then the sound of Wing’s secondary valve cover sliding back into place. Before Drift could ask what the frag was going on he saw Wing bite his lower lip and then a deliciously slippery hand stroked slowly down his spike.

A groan worked its way up from somewhere deep in Drift’s throat and he let Wing guide him down to where the jet had used his own lubricants to grease the apex of his thighs. His arms shook as he lowered himself onto Wing, his moan drowning the soft sigh of pleasure from the jet as his spike slid into the slippery and welcoming grip of Wing’s thighs.

_So smooth, he’s so_ smooth.

It felt like the universe was spinning out of control around him and Drift never wanted it to stop.

He panted through his vents and supported himself on his elbows, feeling the purr of Wing’s engine through every micron of contact between them while he tried to get his bearings.

The jet was smiling at him again, one hand stroking his rounded cheekpiece and the other wrapped comfortably around his waist. Drift let his optics slide offline and shuddered, greedily trying to memorise the feeling of Wing against him in case this never happened again.

Another surge of lubricant left Drift’s valve and ran down his spike, making him shiver.

“I thought you said something about movement being involved?”

Teasing words breathed against his audial flare brought Drift’s optics back online to see Wing wearing that stupid little smile he always gave Drift when he accidentally let his guard down. He growled and leaned down to kiss the smile from Wing’s face.

He could still feel the persistent upwards curve of the jet’s lips as they traded light little nibbling kisses. The abortive whir of flight turbines trying to fire and being shut down gave Drift his cue.

Bracing himself on his forearms, Drift began to move.

He couldn’t hold back his moan at the first smooth slide, Wing’s protoform was so _smooth_ compared to his own or those of his guttermech kin from the dead end. It was a different kind of smoothness to a valve; firm and solid without the squeeze of callipers. There was no direct stimulation for the jet’s valve and no way for him to satisfy any of the sensors of his array without the release of overload.

And Wing’s overload was entirely Drift’s responsibility.

He started slowly, keeping Wing occupied with those nibbling kisses while he tried to find the right angle to bring the jet the most pleasure possible from this. Drift’s spike slid easily across bare protoform with the combination of their lubricants slicking the area.

Every other thrust or so Drift would press his exposed lower belly to the thin secondary cover of Wing’s closed spike housing and rev his engine, making Wing gasp and arch against him.

Drift pressed his forehelm to Wings, unable to split his attention between kissing and keeping up his controlled pace at the same time. He felt fingers move against his back, tracing seams and drawing glyphs he couldn’t spare enough processor power to decipher, simply enjoying the extra tingles they sent through his frame and concentrating on bringing Wing closer to overload.

It would take a while but it was worth it to watch Wing slowly come undone beneath him like this.

Without saying anything the jet adjusted his legs to provide just the right amount of pressure along Drift’s spike. Trying to show his appreciation for the consideration Drift shifted his helm sideways to lick his way down the jet’s neck cables, pressing down with his hips and revving his engine in a rolling pattern to send a powerful wave of stimulation pulsing right through Wing’s entire array.

It was apparently just what was needed to tip Wing over the edge and he overloaded with a piercing cry; crushing Drift to him as he arched up off the berth, shuddering uncontrollably.

Their armour rattled and Drift spent himself between Wing’s thighs with a whispering sigh, unable to break the association between this from of interfacing and the need to be quiet.

Wing was making more than enough noise for both of them as the continued pressure of Drift against him extended his overload. The speedster smiled into Wing’s neck and let pleasure wash through him with each twitch from his partner.

They sank back onto the berth when Wing overloaded a second time and knocked himself offline. Drift retracted his spike and waited, carefully counting the klicks until he heard the jet boot up again.

_Didn’t take too long; he’s ok._

Their Fields were so thoroughly tangled together that Drift couldn’t quite tell whose afterglow he was feeling. He couldn’t be bothered trying to figure it out, either.

Wing hummed happily, nuzzling against Drift’s audial flare.

“That worked _extremely_ well.” The jet whispered. “Thank you, Drift.”

His Field filled with so much gratitude and affection that Drift felt his faceplates heating. He pressed them deeper into Wing’s neck, offlining his optics and hoping the infrared evidence of his blush wouldn’t spread to his audial flares.

“Thank you for trusting me.” He muttered roughly.

Recharge tugged insistently at his systems and Drift felt himself shutting down, feeling too sated and safe this time to fight it long enough to put his armour back on. The last thing his audials registered was Wing whispering again, the glyph almost too soft to be heard.

“ _Always_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED. This got completely out of control o.O;   
> I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to hell.


End file.
